


hotel complaints and grievances raised

by skatzaa



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Always Female Han Solo, Always Female Lando Calrissian, F/F, Post-Solo: A Star Wars Story, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25896850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: Han wasnotin the middle of getting her ass kicked in sabacc by an old lady less than half her height, when she caught a ripple of fabric out of the corner of her eye. It was sparkly and gold and utterly impractical.She would recognize it anywhere.
Relationships: Lando Calrissian/Han Solo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25
Collections: Rule 63 Exchange 2020





	hotel complaints and grievances raised

**Author's Note:**

  * For [webofdreams89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/webofdreams89/gifts).



> Title from Dinner and Diatribes by Hozier.

Han was _not_ in the middle of getting her ass kicked in sabacc by an old lady less than half her height, when she caught a ripple of fabric out of the corner of her eye. It was sparkly and gold and utterly impractical.

She would recognize it anywhere.

“I fold,” she told the tiny old lady who was _not_ kicking her ass, and pushed back from the table. The pot hadn’t been that great anyway, and she’d make up the lost credits when she and Chewie met up again for their next job. Then she spun around and surveyed the packed cantina.

There—more gold shimmering through the smoke in the corner by the terrible band that had played nothing but ancient jizz songs all night from before that old lady was born.

She slipped her way through the crowd, one hand on her blaster in case anyone tried to get _friendly,_ and emerged on the other side having only broken fingers on _two_ different hands that had tried to pick her pockets. _Two._ Nar Shadda was practically going straight, if that was an indication of anything.

 _“You,”_ she spat at the motionless back draped in all that gold, and the figure spun around in an obnoxious flare of cape. The fabric settled to reveal a mesh shirt and a truly tiny bandeau that covered very little, but did a great job further emphasizing an already spectacular pair of tits.

Han couldn’t even (really) enjoy the tits, which was a damned shame.

“Yes?” Lando said archly, raising one eyebrow. Her hair was free of the braids Han had last seen her sporting, instead a halo around her head. It was, regrettably for Han’s sense of self-preservation, a good look for her. Then, because she was a bastard, Lando added, _“Han?”_

Han spluttered, balled up fists landing on her hips for a split second before she remembered that it made her look like her mother, and instead crossed her arms. She scowled at Lando.

“That’s not how it’s pronounced, you harpy, and you know it,” Han said, feeling her voice fly up an octave or two. “You still owe me a camtono of credits for that clusterfuck on Ithor. Pay up.”

Lando shrugged lazily, as though she could hardly remember spending a very long and uncomfortable night in jail handcuffed to Han before Chewie managed to bail them out, and said, all affected airs and wounded innocence, “How was I supposed to know it’s illegal to hunt molsume?”

“Because I told you it was,” Han snapped, stepping into Lando’s bubble and jabbing at her chest, “and our guide told us, _and_ the spaceport official told us. You’re just a _gigantic asshole.”_

“Careful there, Solo,” Lando said, in a tone that _did not match_ Han’s at _all,_ reaching out to hook a finger in her vest pocket and tugging a little. “If you keep that up, I might end up thinking you like me.”

“Banthashit,” Hand said reflexively. But she couldn't quite stop her (traitorous) eyes from skipping down for a split second. When she looked up again, Lando’s smile was downright predatory.

“Let me buy you a drink to make up for Ithor,” Lando offered, in a tone that meant she thought she was being quite generous.

“Three drinks,” Han countered. “Minimum. And you’ll still owe me.”

“Alright, three drinks.” Lando’s smile sharpened further. “But first, I want to see the _Falcon._ Gotta make sure you’re taking care of my baby.”

Han rolled her eyes. “Standard rules apply.”

“Of course,” Lando agreed. “No stealing the ship, no sabotaging the engines—or fuel tanks,” she added, after a look from Han. “Nothing that can be construed as attempting to steal the _Falcon_ back.”

“And,” Han said, because she’d learned quite a bit from the clusterfuck on Ithor, “no drugging my drinks later to try to sneak away on the _Falcon._ That _includes_ things I’m allergic to.”

“Alright, fine,” Lando said. She turned away to settle her tab at the bar, flirting shamelessly with the bartender in the process. Someone—a big, hulking human or near-human—sidled up behind her, making like he was going to pass through a nearby opening in the crowd, but Han knew that move.

She drew her blaster and had it at the base of the creep’s skull before he even made a move to grope at Lando’s ass. Han leant forward and up, pushing onto the tips of her toes to hiss in his ear, “Nice try buddy, but no dice.”

He tensed, and she flicked the safety off her blaster, letting him hear the whine of it charging up. With very obvious reluctance, he relaxed again.

“Good,” Han told him. “Now beat it.”

He did, in fact, beat it, and Han watched him leave with great satisfaction. When she turned around again, it was to the sight of Lando leaning back, elbows braced on the bar behind her, and grinning. 

“My hero,” she said, so sincerely that Han knew she was laughing at her.

“That’s two you owe me now, Calrissian,” Han said.

Lando was already turning away and heading toward the exit. Han holstered her blaster, though she kept the strap unlatched and her hand close by, and hustled to keep up. Lando threw over her shoulder, “Four drinks then.”

Han caught up, close enough that she could smell the product Lando preferred to use in her hair, and growled, “Plus the credits. And _no_ plying me with drinks until I pass out. New rule.”

Lando tossed her head, giving Han a faceful of hair because the woman couldn’t even roll her eyes quietly. She said, “Whatever you say, dearest,” and sauntered out.

Han groaned, but followed. She wouldn’t trust Lando alone with _her_ ship if the fate of the galaxy depended on it.

* * *

Some time later, Han found herself staring up at the ceiling of her bunk room, naked and still a little sweaty. Next to her, Lando was like a kriffing furnace, and Han’s entire right side was suffering the consequences. 

“So about those drinks,” Lando said, voice overly sweet. “Surely this takes care of at least _one_ of the favors I owe you.”

Han groaned and rolled over into Lando’s truly incredibly tits.

“Save it,” she said, voice muffled. Lando’s skin was hot and sticky and not helped by the addition of her breath, but she didn’t move. “Not even you are good enough in the sack to make up for a camtono of credits.”

Above her, Lando laughed her loud, booming laugh, and wove her fingers back through Han’s short cropped hair. 

“Worth a shot,” she said, and Han let herself drift a little bit, safe in the knowledge that Lando (probably) hadn’t thought of another loophole in the rules to exploit so soon. 

* * *

Some (more) time later, Han woke up with a piece of flimsi stuck to her forehead. She was decidedly _not_ in her ship, although she was, thankfully, clothed. 

She sat up and got tangled in the ridiculous gold cloak that had been draped over her. It took an embarrassing long amount of time for her to extract herself from it. Pulling away the flimsi revealed a brief message:

_You never said anything about you falling asleep on your own. - L_

Then, under that:

_The room is paid for, and I left enough credits on the tab to pay for your four drinks. You’re welcome._

And finally:

 _I’m not_ stealing _the_ Falcon, _so don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m just_ borrowing _her for a job._

_I’ll see you in a week!_

Han groaned and flopped back on the bed. She should’ve known better.

Well, so much for that next job. She’d have to comm Chewie and let him know.

Han rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head. If she was stuck here for a week, might as well enjoy Lando’s hospitality.


End file.
